Op 263 - The Moody Genius
by TheRipleyMystery
Summary: Losing both mother and limb at the age of 9, Hiccup has almost nothing in his life except for his father and his old grand piano. Now, 8 years after his mother's death, Hiccup is now in a new town, a new home and a new school where bullies, jocks and one beautiful blond plague him. But, he also has a gift; a wonderful talent with a piano. But can that save him? Rating may change
1. Chapter 1

What you are about to see, dear reader, is a look into the life of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third whose mother was killed and his leg was lost. Lo and behold, an in depth look at this moody, melancholy genius. Enjoy

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The piano strings moaned and the keys plonked and plunked. The notes that emanated from the piano were strained. Tortured. The music that was supposed to thrill the listener and satisfy the player was now twisted, bent and distorted. The pianist frowned and stopped playing, his fingers no longer touching the ivory keys. The magnificent grand piano was now silent. No sounds touched any ears, no music played, no minds were touched. The pianist that was just a small boy sighed and rested his head against the keys, letting out a long dissonant chord. The boy moaned. He would never master this. He sat up and stared at the sheet music placed in front of him. For minutes or hours, he sat there and read and examined and read and memorized. Until finally, he rested his fingers upon the keys and began to play. Oh! What a feeling that boy had when the notes and chords that emanated from the piano were no longer horrid and instead, they were sweet and touched the ears with a lightness that would rival a feather. His fingers started to flow across the keys and a smile began to touch upon his face. He started to play faster and faster, until the wonderful noise that erupted from the strings of the piano were absolutely, amazingly deafening. His smile grew even larger and he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and all the while, his fingers never left the keys. He soon reached the climax of the piece and he ended with a final, satisfying chord. He ran his fingers through his hair, hardly believing what he had achieved. He had done it. He jumped up and punched the air, hooting and crying out in gleeful victory. Suddenly, he heard his name called and he rushed out the door. His father and mother were taking him out to see an opera, something he had requested. He called out to them and clambered into the car. This was turning out to be a great day!

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The boy didn't even see the oncoming truck. Neither did his parents. They had reached a busy intersection and once the light had turned green, they started forward. In a split second, the truck had slammed into the side of the car. The resulting crash killed 3 people. Of these 3 casualties, one of them was the boy's mother. The two other casualties were pedestrians that were caught in the way of the wreck. Of all those that could've survived, the boy did which was, in his words, 'unfortunate'.

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**- 8 years later -**

The room was dark, with only a few swathes of sunlight entering the room through closed blinds. The air in the room had a touch of something horrid. The dark grand piano that sat in the middle of the room was silent and it still had plastic wrapped around its legs. It had just been moved from halfway across the country. The boy, now grown into a healthy 17 year old, hefted the piano's seat into the room and set it in front of the keys. He sighed and sat on the seat, groaning as he did. He pulled up the right leg of his trousers, to examine his new prosthetic. It was a new model that should allow him to move faster and be a tad more agile. Its sleek, black carbon fiber shell was brand new, along with everything else, the joint, the 'bone', everything. He tapped the shell and the sound that reached his ears was dull and short. He flinched involuntarily. He spent a few more minutes examining his new limb before pulling his pants leg down and putting his new foot on the floor. He ran his tongue over his teeth and turned his attention to the piano. He ran his fingers over the keys, gently pressing some to sample the sounds that they made. He then stopped and rested his hands near the center of the keys. Maneuvering his fingers into the right spots, he began to play. Oh, what I would give to make you hear this as well. I wish with all my heart, reader, that you too be able to hear the soft delicate melodies that came from that piano and from that boy. He played with distinct lightness and his tune was happy and fast though his face showed no emotion except a certain melancholy.

Then, after the 3 minute mark into his gay (gay as in happy, dear reader. Music, good music that is, should never be called 'gay') tune, it turned from a wonderful romp into a dark, depressing trudge. His notes became more heavy and deep. His fingers no longer touched the keys and instead, started to press harder on them. His straight mouth now curved downwards at the edges. Now, he started to go faster and every time he increased the pace, the tune would get deeper and harder. That cacophonic, symphony of darkness filled the air and resonated in the pianist's ears. He started to slam on the keys, making the tune even the more louder until it became a deafening, melancholy roar that makes one's heart tremble.

Then the tune slowed and calmed and quieted but that did not make it any less depressing. Instead, the tune got even more miserable. In an unrelated note, should I die tomorrow, I would like this boy to play something at my funeral, preferably this song.

Finally, after 10 minutes, he stopped. His fingers ceased to move and the room was now silent. And tears were springing from his eyes, memories of his mother resurfacing as they often do. He started to sob and he rested his head upon the keys, another dissonant chord ringing out. Behold, fine audience, this boy. The boy who lost his mother and his leg in one tragic accident, 8 years ago. Behold, the sad, disheartened, depressed, moody genius of a boy. What is this boy's name? Hiccup.

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**Author's note: Please tell me what you think of this. If it does well, I will continue it. If it doesn't do well, f*ck it, I'll continue it anyways.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**-Ripley**


	2. Chapter 2

_Cold, cold and damn cold, this town is just the best. And what is with the name? Berk. Berk. BUUURRRKKK. I'm going to enjoy living here_, Hiccup thought to himself as he sat in the living room of his new house, with all the lights switched on. It was nearing the start of the new school semester in January and Hiccup had everything ready, that didn't mean was excited for his first day at school though. He still didn't see the logic in this move. His father and himself had lived a comfortable life in his old town. He had friends and contacts and relatives. Here, in '_BURK', _he had no one, no one except his father.

His fingers twitched and flexed involuntarily as he sat on the couch, being as they were, so used to dancing across piano keys. He was in nothing but his boxers and a grubby old t-shirt. He flicked through the channels, finding nothing interesting. As usual, there was nothing to watch except for crappy romantic comedy movies, reality TV shows about models and their melodrama, cartoons that were 10 years too childish for him, more reality TV shows about something or other that absolutely no one cared about. He kept clicking and clicking and clicking, finding nothing he liked until he finally shut off the TV. He rubbed his sore eyes and sat still for a minute. He closed his eyes and tried something his father had recommended to him to help ease his nerves, some meditation. He relaxed and cleared his mind, easing back into the couch. He took deep breaths, in and out, in and out. Then, he felt actually at ease. He felt calm and without worry. He let a small smile appear on his face. For the first minute, Hiccup was at peace, the outside world no longer existing.

In the second minute, he became aware of a certain humming. A quiet, dull hum that barely reached his mind. He paid it no mind. It could just be the refrigerator and it's loud, ever-constant drone. It could be the next-door neighbor cutting his grass with his unreliable, relic of a lawnmower, though why he would cut his grass at this hour was a mystery. It could be his other next-door neighbor's dog having sex with the other dog Hiccup's next-door neighbor had. Like I had said, he paid no mind.

But, after another minute, the small hum had grown louder. It filled his ears with an uncomfortable ringing. He tried to ignore it as a break in focus would result in a break from his new found peace.

In the fourth minute, the hum that had grown was now thunderous and resounding! It drilled its way into Hiccup's mind, destroying his peace and causing him to open his eyes and curse. He screamed in frustration, clenching his fists and slamming his head onto the couch. Then he noticed the thunderous, deafening, ear-splitting noise was gone. It had left him. At once, he knew what that noise was. Well, for god's sake, you must be saying, what was it? Who was the culprit? Who disturbed Hiccup? Hiccup's father has a saying, for when Hiccup would finally stop playing the piano. He would say to Hiccup, _"Hiccup, the second you stop playing that piano, silence turns into unbearable noise." _Have you guessed who did it? Well, my dear reader, should you lack the mental capabilities of figuring out the major clue that I have left most generously for you, I will help ease your mind. Silence is noise. Noise is silence. Poetry my dear reader, poetry in short glory.

Hiccup ran his fingers through his hair. He then looked at the old grandfather clock his father had managed to buy at a flea market. 5 o'clock. Oh, he still had some time. He looked at his fingers and found them tapping against the arm of the couch. He quickly stopped himself. He heard him stomach rumble and discovered that he hadn't eaten for 8 hours. Perhaps that's why he felt so miserable. He stood up and walked into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a small rectangular room that connected directly into the dining room. The wall that separated the kitchen and dining room had a small wide window frame with a wooden counter. The kitchen also had a window that stretched across the entire wall. That window currently had curtains drawn across it. Hiccup trudged into the dark kitchen, gently scratching his arse. Ahem, sorry, reader, perhaps I should leave details like that out next time. So, returning to the story, Hiccup trudged into the dark kitchen, not gently scratching his arse. Instead he… Was picking his nose. He wiped his finger on his shirt and opened the fridge, the cold blue light smashing into his eyes. He groaned and squinted, partially shielding his eyes with his hand. His eyes finally adjusted to the light.

He parsed the contents of the fridge that he had painstakingly organized by alphabetical order in one of his bouts of sheer boredom. He found a Pepsi can and some leftover pasta. He pulled them out of the fridge and set them onto the rustic granite countertops. He put the pasta into the microwave and started to heat them up. As he waited for the pasta to heat up, he noticed his father had left a steak knife on the counter top. His eyes instantly snapped onto the metal blade. He suddenly felt his fingers twitching and tapping. He took a step forward and gripped the handle of the knife, lifting it off of the counter. He ran his tongue over his teeth, a habit that had an intense hatred of death. A dangerous thought crossed his mind, for the 20th time that year. He sneered and roughly pulled open a drawer, almost throwing the knife into the drawer. He slammed the drawer back. Then the beep of the microwave filled the kitchen. He took the pasta out of the microwave and gently setting it on the counter, not wanting to make a sound. He pulled open a different drawer and pulled out a fork. He picked up the plate of pasta and walked over to the window. He started to eat, chewing slowly. His father's cooking had improved dramatically over the past few years. After 3 bites, he buried the fork in the pasta. He set the plate down for a second to open the curtains. The curtains gently drew open and darkness greeted him. The glow of streetlamps managed to touch Hiccup's eyes through the window. The stars filled the sky and the moon hung low. 5 o'clock. AM. Not PM. He picked up the plate of pasta and continued eating, staring out into the sky. He would need to get into bed soon, just to trick his dad into thinking he had slept. Hiccup opened the Pepsi can and drank heavily from it; enjoy the sweet taste as it ran over his tongue. Oh, that's good.

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**Author's note: I really got a good response on that first chapter and I'll be continuing this story. Also, if anyone's wondering, Airship is still alive. I never give something up, I just put it down for a minute. Anyways, enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 3

Hiccup sat at the dining table, taking another uninterested bite out of his bowl of cereal. He wasn't that hungry, he had just had an entire plate of pasta just an hour ago. He continued to eat though his eye wondered towards his father, who sat across from him and was enveloped by a newspaper. His father, Stoic was a big and burly man, aptly named as well. Stoic turned the page and continued to read. For the past 5 minutes, there had been a tense silence, much to Hiccup's discomfort. As addressed earlier, dear reader, Hiccup and silence didn't enjoy each other's company. Stoic turned another page and finally set the paper down, looking at his son intently. He examined his son's face, looking for evidence for some as yet undiscovered crime. He then leaned back in the hair and played with his beard with a finger. Hiccup looked up at his father, not keen on such close examination, "What is it?" Hiccup said in cruel bluntness.

"Did you have a good night's sleep last night son?" Was Stoic's response. Hiccup set his spoon down, placed his hands on the table and calmly responded.

"Yes, fahther." Stoic let out a small chuckle, "What's so funny?" Hiccup demanded, once again with cruel bluntness.

"Son, can I tell you something?" Silence, "You're a shite liar." Stoic with a smile on his face.

"What gives it away?" Hiccup said, starting to eat again, gently slurping the milk in his spoon.

"You, dear boy, have a very distinct tell." Stoic explained.

"Tell? What is this? Poker?" Hiccup interrupted.

"No, it's not poker and if it was, I would honestly be able to say you'd be losing son. Whenever you lie, your fingers twitch." Hiccup paused, looking at his fingers. They were still dancing their forced dance. Never stopping for rest or pause. They tapped and turned and twisted and twirled.

"They always twitch." Hiccup said.

"Yes, I've noticed that but normally these little finger dances are small, subtle. Hardly noticeable. When you lie, the dances turn from a calm, waltz into something you see nowadays. You need to control those fingers of yours boy." Stoic explained.

"Very poetic father. Did you just come up with that?" Hiccup interrupted with a strong drizzle of sarcasm.

"Har har, son. Look, you need to be more natural when lying. When someone asks you where were you, you don't just give them a sentence. Make it longer, make it seem like you're actually talking to them."

"Dear god dad, when you become an expert liar?"

"Since poker every Friday night for the past 5 years son. Next time you tell a lie, look someone right in the eye, hide your hands and make sure you're talking to them." Stoic summarized, leaning forward now with his hands upon the table, "How much sleep did you get?"

"About an hour." Hiccup said quietly, only a few more slurps from finishing the bowl of cereal. Stoic reached across the table and cuffed Hiccup across the back of his head, eliciting a cry from Hiccup, "Ow! Jesus, what was that for?" Hiccup felt the back of his head, rubbing it gently.

"Dammit Hiccup! You need more sleep; you can't keep going on like this! What happened to your meds?"

"I don't like taking them."

"Why the fuck not?" Hiccup cringed at that curse word. Stoic rarely used them with him. Ears so used to beautiful sonnets and moody operas recoiled at harsh language.

"They make it hard to think, slows my response time, can't play as well." Hiccup felt his fingers twitching again.

"You can't play as well? You find it hard to think? Son, insomnia's hard and you need those meds. Come on boy, why do you always have to make this so hard?" Stoic threw his hands up in frustration, a very childish gesture from a grown man, "How long has it been since you got more than 3 hours of sleep?"

"Um…" Hiccup paused, thinking back, "About a week."

"A week?" Stoic mumbled a quiet _Jesus Christ, _"Son, you need more sleep! Just because the meds make you less of an excellent piano player, that does not justify death by sheer exhaustion. What other things do you need to get to sleep aside from the pills you're _supposed _to take?"

"I don't know. How about a warm body to curl up next to?" Hiccup stopped eating completely and leaned back, imitating his father's pose. Hiccup's eyes turned into a maelstrom of silent fury.

"Oh for crying out loud Hiccup! I'm sorry for tearing you away from her! But this is going to be good for us! I have friends here and I can finally start my own construction firm! You can't fly underneath someone else's wings!" Stoic started to raise his voice, though only marginally. But to Hiccup's finely tuned ears, Stoic might as well have been using a loudspeaker, "I know you liked her…"

"LIKED HER?" Hiccup jumped up, the chair toppling over and voice full of white hot rage, "I LOVED HER!"

"It's just young love son! You'll get over it!" Stoic didn't raise his voice in return or even stand up. He remained seated and knew he had to take some heat, Hiccup needed to let out some steam and why not on him? He hadn't always been the best father, "You'll find someone new Hiccup, people always do."

"SHE WAS THE ONLY PERSON I LOVED! AND SHE LOVED ME BACK! AND HERE WE ARE, IN THIS SHITHOLE BACKWATER TOWN!" Oh, the tyranny of young love. Dearest audience, I find it safe to assume that most of you have experienced the cruel, grip of young love. That feeling of boundless want held back by rolls of barbed wire that dig into your heart. I, myself, have experienced such pain. For me, it was a fair blonde lassie from the emerald Isle. For Hiccup, it was a lovely, raven-haired young girl named Heather. He loved her but unbeknownst to him, she didn't. Instead, she chased after another boy with the IQ of a potato salad and the strength of a goddamn Ox.

"Hiccup… I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say but you'll find another girl." Stoic tried to calm his son, "You should get out of the house more, there are a lot of attractive young girls your age in this shithole backwater town. Don't worry about it son, the school starts in a week."

"A week?" Hiccup turned from a raging volcano into a sleepy, green meadow. Chaos to peace.

"Yes son, a week." Stoic had his hands up, in defeat, surrender and resignation, "And I'm sure you'll find someone new."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure that I will. Thanks… Father." Hiccup sat down and finished his cereal, fingers prancing all the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: HAPPY LATE NEW YEARS! AND CHRISTMAS! AND IF YOU READ AIRSHIP THEN YOU'VE SEEN THIS MESSAGE ALREADY! HOORAY! Anyways, I hope you've all had a good time and I'm back. This may not be my best piece since I haven't touched a keyboard for two months. And also, I've done a new thing with the narrator so that he's a little more humorous. If you think that the narrator now just doesn't fit with the tone of the story or whatever your reasons are, leave a review and tell me that. Don't worry, I read all the reviews (much to the delight of my ego) and I'll fix any problems you have (within reason). Now that you've read this incredibly long and pointless paragraph, ENJOY!**

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The piano rang out with all its melodic glory. Each note beautiful. Each delicate chord enough to make a heart melt. The time was noon and Hiccup was practicing, again. For Hiccup, music was his favorite pastime. Where others his age had their interests sunk into videogames (though Hiccup still enjoyed some of them), girls, cars or sports, he was busy with his piano. He spent almost every waking minute polishing, playing, tuning and adjusting his most prized possession. This was one of Hiccup's more… Ahem, _cheerful _pieces. After his father had made a rather morose joke about depression and wrist slitting, Hiccup switched paces from grim, dark and moody to happy, chippy and joyful. Hiccup's heart wrenched with each note that wasn't below the middle C. Happiness was always hard for Hiccup to grasp properly. Perhaps, he could be classified as an _Emo? _Oh dear god, what an _ugly _word, Jesus, who would use such a foul word? Oh right, you people. No, no, no. Not _Emo_. Possibly… Erm… Depressing. Yes, that's the word, depressing. Hiccup's ears pricked as he heard the door open and his father's voice, "Alright Hiccup, I've got a meeting. I'll be back in an hour or so. See ya." Hiccup called back a loud yes. The door closed and Hiccup ended the song instantly. Hiccup smiled and leaned back, hands in his hair. Now, to the good stuff. And with that note, Hiccup started playing again, his fingers dancing across the keys and dark notes flying from the strings.

The house to the right of Hiccup's house belonged to Snotlout Th… Thoer… Thor… All right, in all honesty, I'm having a little trouble pronouncing the last name. Ok, from now on, I will be introducing characters by their first name unless that character is either A) a doctor, B) professor, C) someone with a profession who is customarily addressed by their last name. Besides, Snotlout isn't all that important anyways. He's not even a main character. He's a supporting character. Sure, supporting characters are vital to the story but he's not even that vital. He's mainly just a plot device that introduces the reader to Ast… Hang on, let's start a new paragraph.

So yes, Snotlout Whatever. Technically his parents own the house so... Damn it, off topic again. Apologies. Okay, now, what was the point of these last two paragraphs? Oh right, just useless exposition. Snotlout was what you would expect from the most stereotypical jock on dearest planet Earth. Extremely athletic and extremely strong along with the IQ to rival that of a common potato salad. But he's not the character I want to talk about; I want to talk about Astrid Hofferson. Oh hey! I remembered her last name! Astrid Hofferson, a feisty, beautiful blonde with a personality so colorful that it could rival Picasso during his blue period (hint hint, Picasso's blue period wasn't that colorful, in fact, it was rather depressing but isn't that the whole theme of this story?). She was funny, smart and beautiful, all rolled into one. And somehow she's dating the dumbass, meat-sack I just introduced 6 sentences ago. Of course, today was a little different. Today, Astrid and Snotlout weren't in busy in the act of coitus but rather; they were fighting as they usually did. What were they fighting about? Oh this and that, not really important, after all, this is just a plot device so, let's just leave it at that.

Back inside the house, Hiccup could hear their argument quite clearly. In fact, it seemed like they were having it in their front yard. In truth, however, that was not what was happening. The fight was actually taking place in the living room of Snotlout's house but to Hiccup's finely tuned ears, they might as well have been standing next to his window. He groaned and banged his head on the keys of his piano, clenching his soul at the sour notes that his piano produced and inwardly apologizing to his piano. He also felt a little weird considering he just apologized to a piano. The sound from his piano slowly faded away and now all he could hear were the shouts coming from next-door.

_I'm sorry but you're acting like a total bit…_

_Shut up!_

_Fuck you!_

_You're a piece of shit!_

_Why'd you do this Sno..._

_I said I'm fucking sorry!_

_OH MY GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP_

Were some of the colorful pieces of dialogue that Hiccup managed to pick up. For some reason, he started to chuckle. These people and their useless problems, he thought to himself. Oh, what he wouldn't give to shut those people up. Hiccup continued to listen, trying to pick out whatever their fight was about and for the next 5 minutes, the fight seemed to rage on, never to end. After those 5 minutes, Hiccup was only able to make out a few details concerning a troubled relationship, someone cheating with some, quote unquote, big-titted slut. Yes, 'titted'. It's not even a real word! As I'm telling you this story, the word 'titted' is currently underlined by a red, squiggly line. Not only that but that previous sentence is now underlined by a green, squiggly line. And so is this one! Pardon me, I'm getting off topic again, I'm sorry, today's been quite tiring, I keep forgetting I'm telling you a life-changing story. And that useless rant just took up 67 extra words! Ahem, continuing.

Suddenly, Hiccup heard a door open and slam shut. Intrigued, Hiccup walked over to the side window and peered out. Standing by the fence, was an amazingly beautiful blonde, her long hair flowing down her head like a golden waterfall. Her beautiful eyes and her pale, slightly freckled complexion. He couldn't help but gawk. She had tears streaming down her face and she was staring off into the distance. Then she turned her head only to notice Hiccup standing in the window, looking at her. She looked at him and he looked at her. He waved and she walked away. Hiccup stood by the window for a moment; hand still in the air trying to make a wave. That was rude, he thought to himself.


End file.
